


To Fall with Blood

by Krystalicekitsu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Dark, M/M, Ritual Murder, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-12
Updated: 2010-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/Krystalicekitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean will do anything to get Cas back. Even this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Fall with Blood

**Author's Note:**

> for my [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) [card square](http://krystalicekitsu.livejournal.com/84630.html) "ritual sacrifice".

Dean's hands are shaking.

He curses, low and long because every sigil needs to be precise. Needs to be exactly transcribed as it is in the book in complete and utter detail.

" _Please. Please just let me go. Please, I won't tell anyone, I swear. Please, let me go. I want to go home, please. Please._ "

Hands curve over his shoulders and around his chest before the whisper in his ear, "You can't get him back if you don't finish, you know. Already gone this far, too late to go back."

He can't stop his hands from shaking and the character under his brush jerks a fraction out of line. He wipes it off and starts again. One stroke, two strokes, three. Nice and slow, focused and controlled.

" _ **Please** , I don't want to die. Just let me go and I'll keep quiet and no one will know. I won't go to the cops, no one. I won't tell. Please_."

The voice in his ear is low and soothing as he finishes the last stroke, makes the praises seem natural when they'd never been there before, "Yes, that's good. See? Almost done. Nearly there, Dean. Nearly done. Very well done."

Dean knows that voice isn't real. He's dead. Or as well as. Drug down to the Pit, bright light and screams, leaving this broken, shattered vessel behind.

His body wasn't so well off, either.

He starts the chant and his voice doesn't waver. Stands in the center of the circle and slits her wrists and doesn't waver.

Paints her blood up to his elbows with clumsy fingers as the whimpering cuts off behind him.

" _You know what? Fuck you, Winchester. You think this'll bring him back, your precious little angel? You have no **idea** what we're doing to him down there. No idea. You think the rack was bad? Boy, there are levels of hell you've never **dreamed** of. You're wasting your time. By the time you get to him he'll be nothing more than-_ urk!"

Dean's hands no longer shake. He finishes that part the spell off coldly, staring into her eyes as demonic light crackles through her, knife stuck into her side deliberately non-fatal.

With the rest of her blood, he paints over his face and ears, over the pads of his feet and up his ankles and knees. Smears a handprint over his heart, swipes a finger over each eyelid. He hesitates a moment, before pressing blood over the handprint seared into his flesh.

"Just like that," the voice whispers, "Yes Dean, just like that. Very well done."

He bites back bile.

She's human again, whimpering and blubbering and Dean takes care to blink the tears back. He can't mess up the blood-mask.

His hands are shaking.

He places one over her heart.

He plunges the knife through them both.

And falls back into hell.

He's not leaving until he's found him. Not this time.

When he comes back to himself days later, he's covered in crusted, rotting blood. The body before him is bloated in the Southern summer heat and he can feel it squish under his fingers. He's fairly sure pulling the knife out is going to hurt. He thinks the skin might have started to heal around it.

Maybe he sort of understands why Bobby bodily kicked him out when he suggested it. Because the world is doing that disturbing tilt and slide that happens during a lot of instances. Like a septic infection.

Maybe he sort of understands why none of the accounts of this spell had ever included what happens after the spell is concluded.

But he's out, and he brought back-

But when he turns to look, Castiel's body is still there, beaten, bloody, bruised and still. Too silent even for the angel.

With the ritual passed there's no need to hold back the tears, and he feels them peel back layers of dried blood as they descend.

"It's alright, Dean," the voice is low and soothing. Dean knows it's not real. He's never going to hear it again. But right now, the lie is more comfortable than the truth and it's so easy to give it all up, to surrender into the warm arms that hold him up, that remove the knife and close up the wound and-

"Cas?" his voice is a low croak, days of un-use and days before that of research and tears, but he hears the faint hope in his own voice. Can feel it seep up tentative and fragile in his heart before he shoves it down venomously.

"I'm here Dean, I'm really here. Thank you. Thank you. You've done well," hands are running over his face, petting back his hair but he shoves them away, opens his eyes and spins around.

Castiel's body is gone from the ground and strong arms catch him from behind as he collapses, sobbing as the bubbles of hope explode into sharp, painful relief.

Through his sobs and frantic kisses he can still hear Cas, "Shh, shh, I’m here, Dean. It's alright, I'm here. I've got you. I wont leave you again. Shh."

  



End file.
